


Context

by imperfectcircle



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, White House Era (Crooked Media RPF), lightly edited chatfic, missent sexts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 21:26:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19484353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectcircle/pseuds/imperfectcircle
Summary: Ok. This is. He’s just going to open the chat, see the thing, then tell Jon it’s fine and never talk about it again.





	Context

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kenopsia (indie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indie/gifts).



> Kenopsia prompted Tommy sending Favs a nude by accident which Favs then keeps. "This is probably in Favs' back burner brain for years. Maybe even half-forgotten by the time Favs accidentally returns the accident."
> 
> Just to warn you this is in chatfic style rather than longform style -- shorter sentences, less description, swooping happily between tight third person to omniscient as the whim takes me, etc. I did consider editing it into longform, but (1) honestly I think it works better like this and (2) I'm kind of into the style difference between this and my normal writing. :) 
> 
> Set in Late DC Era. 
> 
> And of course, please keep it secret, keep it safe! No one even tangentially connected to these guys ever, ever needs to know this exists.

Tommy has a series of notifications from Jon popping up on his lock screen:

Jon Favreau: [photo]  
Jon Favreau: [photo]  
Jon Favreau: Shit, fuck, Tommy I’m so sorry, that wasn’t meant for you  
Jon Favreau: Can you please delete and we’ll pretend that never happened?  
Jon Favreau: sorry

His heart rate picks up a tiny bit seeing the messages, absorbing Jon’s anxiety before getting to what might have caused it.

Maybe his heart rate doesn’t just pick up from the secondhand anxiety. Maybe he also has a suspicion what he’s going to see, and a tiny, awful part of him wants to see it. Might not delete the photos.

But it’s mainly embarrassment for his friend. Not anticipation. Yes.

He puts his phone down for a moment to wipe his sweaty hands.

Ok. This is. He’s just going to open the chat, see the thing, then tell Jon it’s fine and never talk about it again.

It’s not like this is the first time he’s seen Jon naked. They’ve changed in locker rooms. Shared hotel rooms. Once lost a very stupid bet in Iowa. This is fine.

He could just not look.

Like, he could text Jon back without scrolling up, and then never scroll up again.

He looks.

The first photo is Jon, naked, smiling, hand on his very erect cock. He’s sitting on his bed taking a photo in the mirror Tommy helped him hang. He looks happy, excited, like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing than swapping nudes with whoever was meant to get this.

Tommy has ZERO feelings about whoever was meant to get this. ZERO.

He looks inviting. Soft, confident, happy.

Tommy wants to get on his knees for him.

The second photo is Jon with two fingers in his mouth, sucking on them with his eyes half lidded in bliss.

Tommy’s dick has ZERO feelings about this. ZERO.

It does not begin to harden just looking at Jon’s lips soft and wet around his own fingers, sucking intently, giving himself over to the sensation of something warm and solid in his mouth.

There's something weirdly familiar about the photo, something that tugs on his memory in a way that isn't just the echo of his own guilty fantasies. Maybe-- 

Shit. Fuck. It’s now been a couple of minutes since he opened the chat. If Jon is looking, he’ll know Tommy has seen the photos but not responded.

Fuck.

Ok.

Be normal, Vietor.

Be. Normal.

Head in the game.

“Haha don’t worry it’s fine [DELETE DELETE DELETE]”  
“Dude, not cool [DELETE DELETE DELETE]”  
“Hahaha we’ve all been there [DELETE DELETE DELETE]”  
“Consider it forgotten [DELETE DELETE DELETE]”  
“Hahahahahaha nothing I haven’t seen before [DELETE DELETE DELETE]”

If Jon is looking, he will see the telltale three dots of _Tommy Vietor is typing_ and hopefully just attribute it to Tommy’s natural awkwardness.

Tommy wipes his sweaty palms on his slacks again. Why is this so hard?

“Fuck, you’re hot [DELETE DELETE DELETE]”

He puts his phone down. Steps away. Gets a glass of water. Drinks the glass of water. Washes up the glass, dries it and puts it away. Considers having another glass of water mainly so he can wash it up again after.

On his lock screen:

Jon Favreau: Tommy?  
Jon Favreau: Please say something  
Jon Favreau: I’m really sorry, man

That hits Tommy right in the solar plexus.

He’s made Jon sad.

His useless anxious inability to be a normal person has made Jon Favreau sad.

This is worse than perving over nudes Jon never meant to send.

This is a mortal sin.

“I’m really sorry, I just [DELETE DELETE DELETE]”  
“It’s fine [DELETE DELETE DELETE]”  
“We’re ok, I promise” [SEND]

He can breathe again.

Ok.

“Sorry I made it weird” [SEND]  
Jon Favreau: YOU made it weird? I’m the one who sent you dirty pictures  
“Dirty pictures? Ok, grandma” [SEND]  
Jon Favreau: fuck you  
Jon Favreau: Look, can I call you?

Tommy appreciates being asked. Tommy wants to say no, but he’s already made Jon fret once this evening, and what kind of monster would compound that?

Tommy says yes.

Jon calls instantly, because of course he does.

“Tommy,” he starts, voice heavy with relief. “Hey. Hi. Sorry. This is so awkward.” He laughs self consciously. “I’m really sorry about this. I didn’t mean to — obviously.”

“It’s ok,” Tommy says. “I promise. We’re fine.”

“Really?” Jon sounds so hopeful. “I know it’s gross, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to become a thing, but I guess I learned from an expert?”

What?

This conversation has taken A Turn.

“I’m not, I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

Ok, back on steady ground again, Tommy says something reassuring and vague.

“It’s just you look so good in that photo, and I know I never responded at the time, but I think you rewired something in me, because now it’s my go to, and I know, I know, it’s super gross of me, but I just. You know?”

Tommy does not fucking know. What photo? What’s happening? Has Jon not just accidentally sent him photos meant for someone else, but now also accidentally delivered an apology meant for someone else?

“Jon,” he manages. “It’s ok. There’s nothing you could do that would gross me out. The nudes were hot, it’s fine, we don’t have to talk about it.”

He hears the words that have just come out of his mouth.

_the nudes were hot_

Nice going, Vietor, way to fuck up the best friendship you’ve ever had.

“The nudes were hot?” Jon repeats. “You’re not mad I’m doing the pose from that picture you sent me? It’s ok if you are. That would be, it would be normal to be mad.”

Lightbulb moment. So THAT’S why the photo looked weirdly familiar.

Tommy has done that pose. Two fingers in the mouth. Sucking. Neck exposed.

And somehow Jon has seen it.

 _I know I never responded at the time,_ Jon just said.

 _That picture you sent me,_ Jon just said.

But! Before Tommy can disappear into a shame spiral the like of which has never been seen before, he thinks:

 _I think you rewired something in me,_ Jon just said.

Fuck. That’s hot. And the other thing? Is Tommy hasn’t sent a photo like that since the last time he hooked up with a guy, which was at least four years ago.

They’ve both been silent for just a little too long.

Tommy takes a breath. “Come over,” he says, voice deeper than he was expecting. “Now.”

Tommy has a shower while he waits for Jon to arrive. Halfway through he has a minor panic that he’s being presumptuous or creepy, but then he remembers the hitch in Jon’s voice when he agreed to come over, and, yeah, now he’s too turned on to panic.

(Let’s be honest, if anyone can panic while aroused it’s Tomathy, but we can let him pretend it’s the arousal that’s calmed him, and not the warm good happy.)

He puts on a soft worn t-shirt and the jeans that make Lovett wolf whistle, and tries to decide how much axe body spray is too much axe body spray. (It’s ANY axe body spray, Tomathon.)

He gratefully tidies some of Mike and Cody's mess, thinking nostalgically about the piles of crap Lovett would have left around to distract him in his hour of need. 

Jon arrives a little sooner than expected, looking handsomely flustered.

He’s also wearing a soft t-shirt and jeans that make his ass look amazing.

Probably they’re both wearing Obama campaign t-shirts or something.

Like cookie cutter Obama bros trying to be as non-threateningly attractive as possible.

Ok. Ok. Tommy can do this. Get it together, Vietor. You have very successfully propositioned people before, and this is Jon, who (a) already likes you and (b) has apparently imprinted on one of your nudes.

Tommy thinks about just going for it. Sticking two fingers in his mouth — sticking two fingers in Jon’s mouth, why the fuck not — and going to town.

“Beer?” he says instead.

Jon grimaces.

“Sure,” Jon says. He sounds . . . nervous? disappointed? confused? Something not great, at any rate. Something Tommy doesn’t want to make him feel.

Tommy remembers to step back from the door to let Jon in.

“Hi,” Tommy says inanely.

“Hi,” Jon says, just inside the threshold, close enough to Tommy that it would just need one of them to take a single step forward.

“Hi,” Tommy says again. He can feel a smile tugging at his mouth. Can see the answering smile about to show in Jon’s face.

“Hi,” Jon says, eyes crinkling with his smile.

They’re both grinning now, happy excited _in this together_ ready to take on the world and win.

“Hi,” Tommy says, meaning, _What are you waiting for, asshole?_

“Hi,” Jon says, meaning, _Just enjoying the moment, don’t rush me._

They both laugh into the kiss.

It’s a happy kiss, fond and familiar, a first kiss that feels like a hundredth kiss, like just another way they fit together and always have.

A first kiss that feels like “No way, you’re left handed too? That’s so cool”

It’s easy and joyful and kind of background hot, the kind of hot that’s fun but not urgent, the reliable kind of hot that doesn’t demand your attention but— And then Jon groans into Tommy’s mouth and fuck, ok, every part of Tommy’s body just got routed straight through his dick.

“You gotta—“ Tommy says, gasps, begs into Jon’s mouth.

He’s got just enough self control not to start scrabbling at Jon’s clothes, but not enough not to back Jon into the wall, to press against him Obama bro t-shirt to Obama bro t-shirt.

“Let me?” he manages, not sure what he’s asking for but knowing he wants it.

Jon moans again. “Anything.”

Tommy takes Jon’s hand and sucks two fingers into his mouth.

Jon’s jaw drops.

Tommy sucks gently, tongue against the pads of Jon’s fingers, eyes locked on Jon’s.

It’s perfect, it’s perfect, but he can do better. He can give Jon every part of that picture that somehow put them on the path to this.

He cups the back of Jon’s head gently, and brings him forward to press his mouth against Tommy’s neck.

Jon shudders into Tommy’s neck, which, fuck, Tommy is not equipped to deal with, and then starts kissing his neck, a path of soft, tender kisses under his jaw.

Jon shudders again, then pulls away.

“Let me suck you?” he asks, like anyone would ever turn down that offer from Jon “the eau stands for oral” Favreau.

Jon drops to his knees in front of Tommy, maintaining eye contact in a way that is very clearly A Move but also super fucking effective, hot damn. Tommy slams the door to the apartment shut and trying not to fall to his knees as well.

Tommy doesn’t always love getting blown. Like, it feels good, but sometimes he can get a bit too much in his own head about it — is the other person enjoying it, is he being responsive enough to be satisfying but not so responsive it’s uncomfortable?

But Favs on his knees smiling up at Tommy happy sexy conspiratorial? It’s hard to worry this isn’t going to be a good time for all concerned.

Jon’s mouth is. Fuck.

Tommy’s knees nearly buckle at the hot wet pleasure of Jon’s beautiful, skilled, _happy_ mouth around him.

Jon makes these tiny, warm noises of happiness. Like sucking Tommy’s dick is his first coffee of the day, taking off his tie after 18 hours at work, and a real good craft beer all rolled into one.

It’s the noises as much as it is the feel, and it’s the visual of Jon on his knees, and it’s the sheer stupid ridiculous joy of the moment, and, just, Tommy loses himself in it, is there in the moment in this room in Jon’s mouth in Jon’s heart.

He forgets to be an awkward anxious weird looking try hard and just knows that right now he is the man whose dick Jon Favreau actively wants to suck, and that’s pretty fucking awesome.

Jon moans around his dick and that’s it, game over, Tommy’s only human.

He holds off long enough to warn Jon, but - to his delight and lack of surprise - Jon is going for gold, bringing Tommy off in his mouth like he was made for this moment, like all he wants to do in this world is be on his knees swallowing Tommy’s come.

He has to pull Jon off him when it becomes clear that Jon is happy to stay there, gently holding Tommy’s oversensitive dick in his mouth for as long as Tommy will let him.

He lets himself imagine softening in Jon’s mouth, Jon ignoring his own arousal to hold Tommy as long as he wants. It’s quite the image.

But here and now, he wants to get Jon off.

“My mouth?” he offers. “My hand? My, uh, my ass? It’s all on the table.”

Jon sways on his feet.

“Next time,” Jon says roughly.

Tommy can feel his own smile getting wider.

Jon leans forward, starts kissing Tommy open mouthed and sloppy, Tommy’s taste still on his tongue, and yanks down his pants to jerk himself off with a few quick, almost painful looking movements.

He must have been on a fucking knife edge, because he’s coming almost as soon as Tommy can return the kisses, making a noise straight into Tommy’s mouth that lights Tommy up from the inside.

They're laughing as they clean themselves up. A happy shared slightly disbelieving laugh of two friends who've just done something amazing together, and aren't sure where it's going to take them next but are sure it's going to be awesome. 

On the couch after, beers in hand and college basketball on the TV, they exchange soft, wondering kisses full of potential, full of hope, full of love. It's good. It's all good.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are love! 
> 
> I'm on twitter as @krfabian, but it's not locked so I never talk about this fandom on there. Do feel free to come say hi anyway! :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Circumstance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20817503) by [okaystop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaystop/pseuds/okaystop)




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